Lisa Scottoline - Daddy's Girl

Nat remembered, shuddering. The siren. The lockdown. Buford.

"Next thing I know, he pulls a shoe shank, a piece of metal they get outta shoes, and he stabs Ron in the chest." Graf's eyes narrowed to slits against the smoke and sun. "Upchurch was a troublemaker, but I never figured him for a killer. Then he tries to stab me, and we fought, and I was able to turn it on him."

"I'm very sorry," Nat said, shaken.

Graf kept his head down, smoking and saying nothing, and Nat and Angus exchanged quick glances. Suddenly Nat wished she smoked, too. It would get her through this conversation, but then she'd have to die.

Graf cleared his throat and finally raised his head, his flat lips unsmiling. "Heard you did CPR, Ms. Greco."

"Please, call me Nat. I did. I tried CPR, but there was nothing I could do."

"That your scarf they found on him?”

“Yes. I used it to stop the blood, but it didn't help."

"You tried that, too?" Graf managed a shaky smile. "What'd you think you were doing?"

Nat blinked, surprised at the hostility edging his tone. "God knows. Staunching the blood flow. I learned it in camp."

"Camp?"

"Summer camp." Nat knew how stupid it sounded, but it was true.

"You were with him a long time. I looked behind me, but you weren't there. When I figured out what you were doin', it gave me a little hope." Graf dropped his head, blowing another cone of smoke, and Nat watched it curl up and disappear like a ghost in the cold wind.

"I tried for a long time. He was too far gone."

"I never woulda lef' him if I'd known he was alive."

"Of course you wouldn't." Nat realized that Graf must be feeling the same guilt she did. Asking an identical array of what-ifs. "It doesn’t matter if I tried to save him or you did. Just know that everything was done to save him, and it didn't work."

"Talk is that I lef him to die, but I didn't. I thought he was dead."

"Of course you didn't. I mean, he was dead."

"Nobody thinks you'd do that, Joe," Angus added. "You're a hero. You saved us both."

Graf snorted, smoke puffing from his nostrils. "That isn't the way some people see it."

Angus frowned. "What do you mean?"

"No offense, professor, but I got you two out and lef behind one of my own."

"No, that's not true," Nat interjected. "He was dead, and I came and got you and begged you to go get Angus. You had to go. I mean, I was desperate. If you hadn't gone, Angus would be dead, too."

"That's what I figured." Graf nodded, squinting hard. "I mean, Ron looked dead. The wound was to the heart, direct, which is why I went out. I was kinda in shock when I saw you. You were screamin' that you needed the help, so I went. I didn't think to look back, like you did. I didn't think to listen for his heart. I shoulda."

"I didn't, either," Nat said, trying to make him feel better. She had unwittingly made a fool of Graf, in trying to save Saunders.

"People sayin' he wasn't dead. That he begged you to help him. Not to let him die."

Nat stiffened. Had he heard something? Had the paramedic told him? "No, he didn't. I only went to him because he moaned, but that's it. He didn't say anything to me."

Angus looked over, and his blue eyes telegraphed, Good girl.

"Didn't think so," Graf said flatly, and Angus put a comforting hand on the C.O.'s shoulder.

"Don't work her over, Joe. It's good she was there with him. She tried to save his life."

"Yeah, right. It's good she did what she could." Graf eyed Nat through the smoke. "Sorry. I do thank you, as Ron's best friend, for what you did to save his life."

Nat smiled, relieved. "You're welcome."

"Hope you didn't try to save the nigger that killed him, too."

Whoa. Nat paled, caught unaware.

"There's no call for that," Angus said quickly, but Graf's head snapped around to him.

What do you know about it, professor? What do you know?" Graf pointed at Angus, the half cigarette burning between his fingers. "You come in once a week, kissin their ass, talkin' about their rights. You don't have to take their shit. What do you really know?”

Angus put up his hands grimly. "Don't shoot, Joe. I'm not what's bothering you today."

"You are, too! What about Ron's rights? Huh? What about his rights? Suddenly Graf threw his lit cigarette at Angus, who dodged it reflexively. Nat jumped, and the butt fell to the ground.

Angus pointed a stiff finger at Graf. "I'll cut you a break, Joe, because you're having a bad day. Next time, I won't."

"I'll hold my breath," Graf shot back, but by then Angus had taken Nat by the arm and was hustling her down the driveway toward the street.

When they were out of earshot, Angus asked, "You okay?"

No. "Yes."

"I didn't see that coming."

"Me neither. Maybe he didn't mean it. He's obviously upset."

"No, he's obviously a racist. By the way, how'd it go with the widow?"

"Sort of okay." Nat didn't elaborate. She was too busy running away.

"Good. You mind if we make a stop? It's not far."

"Where?"

"It's not a date," Angus said with a tense smile, and they hurried to the Volvo, where he answered her question.

The ride to the prison was barely long enough to get the heat going in Nat's car, much less for her and Angus to process Graf's reaction. She pulled up to the white guardhouse, and the same young guard emerged. This time his cap was on straight, and he wore his most official expression.

Nat lowered the window. "Hi, it's Nat Greco and Angus Holt."

"Sorry, we're in lockdown."

"It's me, Jimmy." Angus leaned over to show his face, and the guard's dark eyes widened.

"I heard you got into it, but jeez! What you got there? You get cut, too?"

"No, just a few bruises and a fat lip."

"Bastards! I heard it started over cigarettes. They're animals" Jimmy's eyes flashed with contempt, and his gaze shifted to Nat, then quickly away. She read his mind-I heard you almost got raped-and flushed, unaccountably embarrassed. Jimmy returned to professional mode. "Anyways, sorry, I didn't recognize the car. I gotta ask you guys for ID. I'm on orders. Tryin' to keep out the riffraff, you know."

“I hear you." Angus shifted to get his wallet out of his back pocket, and Nat retrieved her driver's license, then produced them both.

"Hold on. I gotta write down the number, and I don't have a pen on me." Jimmy turned away, muttering, and went back to the guardhouse.

"This joint is jumpin'." Angus eyed the prison in the distance. "No pun."

Nat craned her neck. State police cruisers, a boxy mobile crime lab, and other unmarked black sedans were parked in the driveway, blocking it completely. The parking lot was full. "What's going on, do you think?"

"Evidence gathering, in connection with the murders. They'll take photos, review surveillance tapes, listen to audiotapes, if they have them-though I doubt this place has that kind of hardware."

Jimmy returned with their IDs. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Nat took hers, slid it back in her wallet, and handed Angus his.

"Warden in, Jimmy?" he asked.

"No, he left a while ago."

"How about the deputy warden?"

"Went with him."

"Machik?"

"He's in.”

"Thanks. See ya."

"Hope you feel better," Jimmy said, stepping back from the car. "Botha you."

Nat parked where she could, and they got out and walked up the road. Men in dark overcoats lingered on the icy driveway near the official cars, talking with state police, their hats low on their foreheads. Nat assumed that the men in overcoats were federal marshals because she recognized one as the marshal they'd seen yesterday, in the driver's seat of the sedan. He waved when Nat and Angus approached.

"Nice shiner, Holt," he called out, his voice carrying in the frigid air. "You owe me money."